Loose Ends
by teviko
Summary: Varania has betrayed her brother.  She has nowhere to go.  Khari provides her a choice.


A/N: I do not own Dragon Age. Bioware does. I just spalsh around in it liberally.

This is how I envisioned Khari would have dealt with Varania.

Another short stand alone. Please enjoy!

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It was late in the Hanged Man, many of the patron either having passed out where they were, or had gone off to find their beds, whether that be in the tavern or not. One patron sat alone, nursing a warm, rather flat pint of ale, that was more water than alcohol. She didn't care, it was the cheapest stuff to be had, and she had precious little coin left, having spent most of it getting to Kirkwall on her brother's good grace. A brother she had betrayed. A man she could no longer call Leto.

She had nowhere to go. Her brother's coin had brought her here, but she had come to hand him over to his former Master, a Magister named Danarius that would repay her treachery by allowing her to become his new apprentice. A chance she had eagerly leapt upon, to shed the cloak of destitution of being an under-paid servant in Lord Ahriman's house to becoming an apprentice to one of the most powerful Magisters in MInrathous. Any self-serving mage would have leapt at the chance. She hadn't even considered what would happen should Danarius should fail.

Danarius had planned for every eventuality, even that Fenris would not willing come back to his Master's side, that the ragtag band ofcompanions he had managed to accumulate would refuse to hand him over as well. A dozen or so slaves had been sacrificed for the multitude of shades he'd conjured waiting for his command, thirty of Danarius' hirelings and the fearsome Magister himself. The odds should have been overwhelming. Fenris should have been Danarius' once more.

They hadn't planned for failure.

And now Danarius was dead, and Varania could not go back to Minrathous. The ship he'd bought to bring her here would not permit her back on board without her Master, and even if she did manage to go back to Tevinter, the other Magister's would hunt her down and kill her. She had been the downfall of a Magister, a crime in its own right, and she was not _yet_ his apprentice. Such deceit was even frowned upon by the backstabbing, scheming constantly trying to shank each other with smiles on their faces.

Varania couldn't go back to her former Master. She had burned that bridge when she was approached by Danarius. And as a free elf in Minrathous, she had very few options. She could try and apprentice to another Magister, but she'd be a little more than a slave in his house, if they even decided to accept her. As it was, she would be too risky. The only life she had left was to sell herself into slavery, only to become another body to fuel a Magister's need for blood. She saw the agony of their faces. She couldn't become that.

Varania lifted her mug of ale toward the bartender who nodded in compliance and Varania went back to her silent brooding. She didn't bother to raise her head when the barmaid came by with her order, standing behind her as she set the foaming ale in front of Varania. The elf scooped the mug closer to her, lifting the swill to her lips when she felt the soft press of a dagger to her neck. She froze in terror, lowering her arm back to the table.

A slender arm snaked around from behind her, revealing a small vial of clear liquid. With a thumb, it popped the cork in the top and dumped the liquid into the ale. Once complete, the hand receded, yet the press of the blade never wavered. Varania tried not to show how scared she was, but a small plaintive whimper escaped her terrified lips. She felt disgusted with herself for such a weak display of her cowardice.

The figure from behind bent low, putting her mouth awfully close to Varania's ear so that she could feel the persons' breath as she spoke. "I did not allow your brother to kill you..." Came Hawke's voice, low, hushed, seductive. Her other hand came around the other side of Varania's face, cupping her chin, her fingers firm, but surprisingly gentle. "I would not allow your betrayal to taint the man he is fighting to become."

The pressure in the hand swiftly changed, holding Varania's chin strongly, cradling it up so that the neck was fully exposed, the dagger at her throat pressed deeper into the soft flesh. She could feel her heart race, the artery in her neck pulsing dangerous against the cold bite of steel. Hawke growled. "I, on the other hand, have no qualms with killing you."

"Please! Don't kill me." Varania whimpered, her pathetic mewling out before she could stop herself. She had nothing to trade her life for. No coin, no talents. Her reliability as a servant or slave was non-existent, not that she'd thought her Brother's friend would be so inclined. Varania shook with terror.

Hawke paused, and Varania had a notion she was going to slit her throat right there, and was rather surprised when the knife disappeared. A second later, she was sitting across from Varania. The elf fluttered her eyes and released a sigh of relief. The woman, as fierce as she remember from only hours before, stared intently at the elf, her eyes narrowed, a scowl on her lips. She brought the knife she used to intimidate Varania and embedded it deep into the table.

"I'm not going to slit your throat. Do you know how hard blood is to get out of wood?" Hawke said, her eyes drifting to the tankard of ale. Varania's eyes followed hers. "So, I am going to offer you a choice."

"What kind of choice?" Varania asked. Now with the knife away from her throat, the ability to think and reason had returned to her.

Khari produced another knife and twirled it in her fingers. She had a dozen or more knives on her, not including the Carta's right hand and left hand on her back. "I was thinking that you drink that pint of poisoned ale.

"Or..."Hakwe purposefully let the 'or' hang in the air between them, knowing Varania would seize upon another option. One that might mean any chance of survival.

"Or?" Varania tentatively asked, sensing her chance. Hawke theatrically 'considered' an alternative, rolling her eyes up into her head as if searching for an equally horrific alternative. Varric would have been so proud.

"Or," Hawke paused, bringing her gaze back to the stricken elf. "I let you walk out the front door." She said, craning her neck around to look at the door to the Hanged Man.

"I-I can simply leave?" Varania asked incredulously. It seemed too easy.

"You're a free elf. It's your choice." Hawke said, as if the answer was obvious.

Varania was missing something. "What's the catch?"

In a split second, the knife Hawke had been fiddling with came slicing down onto Varania's hand, pinning her to the table. The speed in which Hawke moved frightened her far more than the pain inflicted by the blade. That overwhelming sense of fear came crashing down on the elf once more. Still holding to the hilt of the blade, Hawke leaned in close to Varania.

"The 'catch' is, that you never, EVER contact your brother again. You will leave this place and never think of him again. I ought to _kill_ you for your vile deceit. He _trusted you!_ You were the only family he has left, and went to great lengths to arrange for you to come here. And you _betrayed_ him!" Khari was livid. She could never betray Bethany. Despite all that had happened between them, when Cullen had come to take away her sister, she had threatened the Knight-Captain herself.

Varania looked down at the dagger sticking out of her hand, the real seething anger from Hawke sinking in. "I promise. I won't ever...I won't contact my brother again."

Khari snarled, leaning in closer to Varania. "Scum like you make me sick."

Scowling, Khari yanked the dagger out and Varania retracted her hand, cradling it protectively against her body, the blood dripping over her garments. Hawke settled across from her, glaring. "Now get out." Hawke spat venomously.

Varania leapt up form the table and dashed to the door, not bothering to look back, or she would have seen Hawke smile and lift the mug of ale to her lips. The elf opened the door to the Hanged Man with her good hand and darted out into the night, straight into the waiting arms of three Templars. Two of the Templars flanking the one in the middle grabbed her before she could protest. Seconds later, Hawke emerged from the Hanged Man, ale in hand.

"Thank you for coming, Knight-Captain Cullen. As promised, one apostate Maleficar." Khari said, leaning against the door frame of the tavern.

_Maleficar?_ But she wasn't a blood mage!

The Templar not subduing her stepped forward and seized Varania's bleeding hand. Her eyes widened in shock as let the injured hand go. It suddenly clicked for Varania. She turned her frightened eyes back to Khari who continued to drink from her ale, a smirk on her lips.

"I admit, given your vocal stance on mages, I did not think you would hand over an apostate so easily." Cullen announced, striding back to his original position.

Varania suddenly realized her peril. She began to struggle in the arms of her templar captors. "No! No you are mistaken! I am no blood mage!"

"The evidence is there to see." Cullen said, pointing to the wounded hand. Varania gasped as she realized Hawke's game, the damning evidence that was hard to refute. She looked back at Hawke again, to see the amused Champion proudly boasting her victory by drinking the 'poisoned' mug of ale. She had been tricked, and then been intimidated by Hawke's lethality, and sent scurrying away to be caught by the Templars. She had planned the whole thing from the beginning, and Varania had fell for it.

As the two Templars hauled Varania away, Cullen turned back to Khari. "Given our last meeting, I must admit, I find it hard to believe you'd do something like this."

"You did _me_ a favor Cullen. I'll call us even, for now."

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Comments welcome. I enjoy criticism.


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